


Read My Signs

by Li Prouvaire (LiProuvaire)



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Love Actually Setting, Background Relationships, Disabled Character, Eventual Harry Hart | Galahad/Gary "Eggsy" Unwin, Harry Hart Lives, M/M, Muteness, Valet Eggsy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-09 13:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5542286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiProuvaire/pseuds/Li%20Prouvaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love Actually AU - Harry Hart needs a discreet butler. Eggsy is the answer to his prayers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Overture

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first contribution to the Kingsman fandom, hope you enjoy it!  
> Dedicating this one to hartwinorlose on tumblr, who was super supportive from day one, and is just an all-around lovely person.  
> Thank you as always to my lovely beta jehanfleur, who endured me ranting about this AU for such an incredibly long time, you're the best.

There’s an almost institutional need in humanity to flee. To disappear, burn the effigy of the previous self and scatter its ashes. Sometimes, though, fleeing doesn’t mean to separate from others, but instead to join them. To love, for those people, is to flee the world and to find it in someone else. But pasts, as we all know, are tricky. Addicted to them, we live in memoriam. Harry Hart and Eggsy Unwin lived like that, drowning in memory and fleeing from life. They led the quiet lives of people who had seen too much but still thirsted for the thrill of thriving for absolute good. That was all soon to change, though. And it all started with a house in need of cleaning and a man in need of discretion.

 

The house was an old but charming thing at the top of a small hill which curved downwards into a pond. It was a simple low and long white tome with wide windows facing the water, more than half covered in climbing vines which filtered the light that entered the rooms. Perched by the pond was a deck fitted only with a writing desk and its matching chair, bleached grey by the sun. The kind of place that invites tranquility and peace merely by standing, it was the picture of quiet elegance.

Michelle hummed distractedly as she parked her car on the gravel that surrounded the cottage. The man stood as always in the doorway, clad in the lines and angles of dark bespoke suits and leaning on his walking cane, but with a countenance that spoke to her of a kindness and mischief as he awaited her.

“Good mornin’, Mr Hart, how are ya doin’ today?” she called, removing the grocery bags from the backseat.

“Good morning, Mrs Dean. I’m doing rather well, and you?” he replied, moving forward to help her move everything into the kitchen.

“Ah, Mr Hart, how many times have I told ye, it’s Michelle! And I’m good, thank ya.”

“I apologise, Michelle. I’m glad to hear that.” He set a bag on the kitchen’s counter and started sorting through it, checking if she’d brought everything he required. It was perfect as usual. “Michelle,” he asked after they’d silently stored away all of the items and he was walking her back to her car, “you wouldn’t happen to know of someone I could employ to clean the house and run some errands? A sort of butler, if you will. Discretion is, as you know, a must.” An instant smile blossomed in Michelle’s lips. His eyebrow shot up, unused to the woman’s brightness.

“Oh, Mr Hart, I have just the right fella fer ye!”

 

“Eggsy!” He turned towards the voice, and saw his mother walk into his room, an unusual smile on her face. “I found you a job.” she said, breathlessly, as she tied her hair into a bun. “I’ve been doin’ a lil’ errand on the side, ‘cause god knows Dean doesn’t bring in enough to save anything for Daisy, and we had your medical expenses an’ all, but the man I work for has a job for ye. If you want it.” Eggsy’s brows knitted together, questioningly. “He wants someone discreet to help in the house. I mean, ye do fit the bill, love.”

Eggsy chuckled at his mother’s choice of words and took his hand out of his pocket to sign ‘When do I start?’

 

 

* * *

_Overture - the term originally applied to the instrumental introduction to an opera._

You can find me on tumblr at [li-prouvaire](http://li-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)

 


	2. Sortita

 

Harry Hart woke up that day, as he did every morning, to the shrill ring of his alarm clock, the fact that it was expected not minimizing his hostility towards it one bit. But alas, after waking, there was no use in going back to sleep, and he set his short-term objectives on brewing a perfect cup of Earl Grey and starting his day. He stood, a tremble in his left leg causing him to harrumph before efficiently grabbing his cane from his bedside. “Little shit.” he grumbled, his voice still clouded with sleep.

The sun was still low on the horizon, but in a handful of minutes Harry was sitting at his kitchen table in his scarlet robe, eating a piece of toast that was easily more jam than bread, and sipping his tea, a tablet with the day’s news open in front of him. It wasn’t hard to remember the days when he’d been pursuing the Sun after a mission, carefully removing the first page and saving it for his wall, and yet they seemed unfathomably distant.

Two years into his removal from the field and he already felt like a completely useless man, living in the country of all places. Alone. Naturally. Merlin, Percival and Lancelot did their best to visit from time to time, but it was rather stupid to expect the busiest men in the country to make time for him, wasn’t it? He’d been demoted to paperwork and mission planning, though it might as well have been a clerk job for how much he liked it. It was dreadful work, and it barely filled the endless free hours in his days. So to pass the time, he wrote. What had started as a source of amusement was now almost a second job, as he relived his life as a Kingsman agent and painstakingly transposed it onto paper. He wasn’t exactly allowed to write about Kingsman operations outside of the assigned paperwork, but he’d put too much work into his encrypted network not to take a little advantage. He sighed softly and shut down his tablet. It didn’t do to dwell on these things, and he needed get dressed. Though he didn’t wear his suit jacket at home, everything else in his ensemble was as pristine as it was while he was forced to follow Kingsman standards. It made Merlin chuckle every time he visited. The bastard.

Harry finished threading his cufflinks through their respective holes and checked his watch. Michelle should be there in a few minutes. And thank god for that, he was running out of jam. He straightened his glasses and walked to the driveway to expect her. The crepitating of the gravel soon alerted him to her arrival and he watched her pull over, exit the car and unload the items he’d requested from the back, a young man with an apparently dreadful taste in shoes and breathtaking smile - an odd and compelling mix of cockiness and timidity - walking behind her and helping her.

“Ah, good morning, Michelle.” he greeted, eyeing the stranger curiously as he moved to take the bags she was carrying.

“Good mornin’ Mr Hart. I found ya the perfect boy to clean the house. Mr Hart, this is my son Eggsy.” she introduced them, hesitance etched upon her face.

“Hello, Eggsy. Pleased to meet you.” Harry greeted politely, one hand instinctively held out for a handshake. Eggsy simply smirked softly, shaking his hand with the one that wasn’t currently burdened by the weight of a grocery bag before turning to his mother with a raised eyebrow, beckoning her to speak for him.

“Uh, unfortunately he doesn’t speak. Eggsy’s mute.” Michelle explained, fidgeting with her ring of keys. Eggsy looked between them, not quite bothering to catch all of his mother’s words, but letting his gaze linger on the older man instead. He wasn’t quite the type he’d expected to find secluded in the middle of the country. He looked like he belonged in the city, all bespoke angles and sharp eyes. The gentle curve of the hill didn’t fit in them.

“Oh.”

“You’ve nothin’ to worry about though, he’s a hard worker, a good listener and he writes when he needs it. He also signs, but I assume you don’t know sign language?”

“No, unfortunately, I don’t.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be fine. An’ maybe you could drive him home after he finishes work?”

“Oh, absolutely, yes.” Harry instantly agreed, feeling perhaps a bit too excited to have an excuse to visit the city.

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” Michelle smiled and turned to Eggsy, absentmindedly fixing the collar of his polo shirt. “See ya later, love.”

‘See you later’ he signed, smiling indulgently at her fussing.

They stood there for a moment, watching her return to the car and drive away, until Harry cleared his throat. “Well, let’s get started, shall we?”

 

* * *

 

_Sortita - A principal singer's first entrance in an opera_

You can find me on tumblr at [li-prouvaire](http://li-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)

 


	3. Accompagnato

Eggsy wondered, sometimes, if he could be doing something more with his life. If there had been, somewhere along his path, a star he’d failed to chase. It seemed, though, that life had forged him a sturdy railway of limitation, forcing him onto a ride where choice was limited and illusory. He leaned back and tried to enjoy it, observing, ever-watchful and hopeful for a turnout. So far, this was the weirdest place he’d been led. Harry Hart’s odd little cottage, with his top of the line laptop perched on strangely old-fashioned furniture, the dark wood clashing against the quiet of the house and the graceful billowing of white translucent curtains.

“I trust your mother has explained to you what the job entails?” Harry asked as he lead him to the kitchen, and placed the bags on the island. Eggsy simply nodded in reply, attentive even as he sorted through the items with him. “Good. Well. I’m sure you’ll do fine. The house, as you can see, is not a huge challenge to clean, I only ask that it’s kept spotless and neat. Do you have any questions?”

Eggsy pulled out a worn notebook and pen from the back pocket of his jeans and scribbled for a moment, as Harry watched and waited, his face inscrutable. He set the notebook on the marble and slid it across to where Harry was standing.

‘1) how did my mum find this job w you?  
2) what’s your job?  
3) show me where the cleaning stuff are?’

Harry looked up at Eggsy, raising one eyebrow at him. “Square-shooting. I can appreciate that.” he murmured, almost to himself, and took a breath, taking a moment to drink in the young man in front of him. There was something in the way he held himself that frustrated him as much as it captivated him. “Your father saved my life. Because of that, I promised your mother a favour, and when she called one day, we came to this arrangement. I’m a tailor. And everything you’ll need to clean the house” he pointed to a door behind Eggsy “is in that pantry.” Eggsy’s brows immediately shot up and he instinctively signed ‘what?’ before huffing and reaching for the notebook once more.

‘You were in the army before you were a tailor? An officer? Whr? You knew my father?’ The handwriting was clearly rushed, but practice had forced Eggsy to write legibly and fast. He made a small movement with his head, beckoning Harry to proceed.

“Not quite an officer, no, but I’m afraid most of that is classified, Eggsy.” he informed curtly, only to be interrupted by Eggsy’s eager finger tapping on the last part of the sentence, the man’s yearning eyes intruding into his own, demanding. “The day he died, I made a mistake. If it weren’t for him, it would have cost the lives of every man present. So I owe him. He was a good man. A friend.”

Eggsy retrieved his notebook and a small smile blossomed on his lips as he looked at it, before jotting down something and quickly scratching it off. Harry opened his mouth to speak, a monologue yearning to come out, but closed it when Eggsy’s sharp handwriting was in front of him once more. ‘Thanks bruv.’

Harry looked between the words and their writer, taken aback. He hoped it wasn’t apparent in his posture as he replied. “You’re... quite welcome.”

Eggsy’s eyes crinkled faintly in his smile, a charming but brash thing that was almost a wink, and suddenly there was a rustle as he put away the plastic bags littering the countertop, efficiently casting an air of awkwardness upon the room.

“Well. I should go work. Please let me know if you need anything at all.”

Eggsy nodded in reply and waved as Harry retreated into the hallway. In the opposite side of the house, sitting on his neatly organised desk and typing away in his laptop, his eyebrows knit together. Whatever he’d expected to feel about the boy, it certainly wasn’t this.

 

* * *

 

 

_Accompagnato - The Italian musical term accompagnato indicates that the accompaniment will follow the tempo (or overall playing style) of the soloist._

You can find me on tumblr at [li-prouvaire](http://li-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)


	4. Staccato

His tasks as Mr Hart’s employee officially consisted of regular cleaning of the house, laundry, running the errands his mother couldn’t take, and cooking some meals, but after a week of work, Eggsy came to the conclusion that mostly it was just preparing endless pots of tea for the man and spending too much time ironing shirts to match his frustratingly precise specifications. Still, the pay was generous, and it was satisfying, having an actual job instead of occasionally shoplifting and living off Dean and his mother’s backs. He absentmindedly gripped the drying cloth tighter, the china plate in his other hand receiving a harsher scrub than necessary.

Across the room, nursing a warm mug of earl grey and going through a frighteningly tall tower of files was Harry, with a perfect posture and a wrinkle deepening between his brows. It was obvious he hadn’t been sleeping much, which Eggsy was slowly learning to be a recurrent thing, and the tips of his fingers tapped a staccato against the wooden surface of the table.

The air in the room was saturated with tension and stress, both men too deep in their own heads to feign amiableness for the sake of the other. Wasn’t silence supposed to be golden?

Eggsy finished his task and glanced at the large clock hung next to the sink. Right in time for his break, and thank god, he needed a fag. He removed the pack from the back pocket of his jeans and gestured to Harry, trying to convey something akin to ‘going outside to smoke, Mr Hart, be right back’.

Harry looked up. "You know, you really shouldn't smoke, it's a terrible habit."   
Eggsy shrugged, a tiny smile of amusement and shamelessness on his cheek.   
"Though considering your past troubles with drugs I'm not surprised. I read your files. Brilliant student throughout school, promising gymnast, did great and then, almost a blank. What happened to you?”   
Eggsy shifted, his stance giving way to the open and defensive offensive you learn from a life of bullies and crooks. His lower lip hung unconsciously in something of a pout, and his furrowed brows made his eyes into suspicious slits. "What changed?" Harry insisted, and Eggsy’s chin tilted upwards in defiance, sinking his hands into his pockets and walking out without an attempt at communication.

It’s what he got for working for a posh arse of a man, he supposed. He held a cigarette between his middle and forefinger, his other hand cupped to protect the lighter’s flame from the wind. His hands shook. The fire didn't catch and his brain wasn't helping. He'd been rude, and he knew it. He'd be helpless without this job but the privileged sod had behaved far worse, he was hardly to blame. The man had probably never known a day of dread and struggle and had the guts to come to him with his silver spoon up his arse asking questions.  _ What changed? _ Eggsy huffed. The smoke danced and faded into the air. 

He wondered what his father had thought of Harry. Maybe he'd been different then, during his army years. A bit less hostile, a bit softer. It was hard to picture him without the lines on his face or the dash of grey in his hair. Frustratingly snob though he definitely was, his features struck something in Eggsy that he couldn't quite place his finger on. Infuriating. He pulled out his notebook and started writing. After a frenzied quest for the right words, crossing out most of his drafts, crumpling up the piece of paper more than once, he walked back into the living room, an air of self-defined dignity about him, and set the notebook on Harry’s desk before returning to his tasks in the kitchen.

‘What changed was the amount of choices I had. The rest of us who don’t have ivory towers to live in have to manage, yeah? There’s reasons for why we live the way we live. I could do just as well as you or better if I had the same privileges. So remember that.’

Eggsy finished his work in the kitchen, leaving Harry’s dinner ready in a small container on top of the oval table, thoroughly cleaned the bathroom as had been requested, polished silverware, and it was only at the end of the day, when he was ready to leave, that he saw his employer again.

Harry was wearing his jacket and coat, his car keys in his hand and a pensive expression on his face. They left the house and entered the car quietly, even though Eggsy’s mind was working relentlessly, trying to figure out what could be happening behind Harry’s carefully constructed inscrutability. When he finally spoke, they were already out on their way.  He didn’t take his eyes off the road and his hands gripped the wheel stiffly.

“ A true gentleman is one that apologizes anyways, even though he has not offended intentionally. And an apology should never be ruined with an excuse.” he paused and his voice softened, a sudden kindness shining in his eye and catching Eggsy off-guard. “And either way, I don’t have one. It was rude and harsh of me to attack you in that manner, and I hope you forgive my shortcomings. I don’t know your story, just as you don’t know mine.”

Eggsy stared dumbfounded at the older man and then out the window, barely managing a nod of acknowledgement. Fucking incredible. Would this man ever stop surprising him? He was pulled out of his reverie by the sound of the car windows being rolled down.

“I don’t suppose you have a cigarette you could spare?”

* * *

_ Staccato -  Marked by or composed of disconnected parts or sounds; cut short crisply; "staccato applause"; "a staccato command"; "staccato notes" _

You can find me on tumblr at [li-prouvaire](http://li-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)


	5. Con Affetto

  


It was a wednesday morning, a month now into Eggsy’s adventure as Harry Hart’s butler/maid/handiman. The day was cold, but the sun was shining bright, bathing the pond and the trees with light, which meant Harry was already on the deck, writing with a quickly cooling mug of tea. How the man managed to do such a casual thing in a three piece suit was completely beyond him. In the living room, Eggsy stood surrounded by a forest of unsteady piles of books, the bookcase that he’d been asked to clean and reorganise looking like an empty honeycomb stretching across the largest wall in the living room. A bit sad, a bookless bookcase, Eggsy mused as he painstakingly sorted through the books, trying to figure out the best way to display them. He sighed. He was getting more frustrated and bored by the minute, but that wouldn’t do, would it? It was his task, and it wouldn’t do to disappoint Harry.

A doorbell rang and his brows furrowed, the sound feeling foreign to his ears. He’d never heard such a sound in this house, but the tv wasn’t on, so there was no mistake to be had - Harry had visitors. His curiosity officially spiked, he ran to Harry and wrote him a quick and simple ‘doorbell’s ringin’. Harry’s lips quirked. “Oh yes, dear boy, I apologise. I was just finishing my tea.” He rose from his chair and walked with Eggsy back to the house. The difference between the way they carried themselves was glaring, one tall and collected, a beautiful line in his poise, and the other defensive in the shield-like curve to his back, the jut of his chin.

They stopped before the door and exchanged a glance, Eggsy trying to read anything into Harry’s imperturbable expression. A nod authorised Eggsy’s hand on the doorknob, and in the next moment he was faced with a solemn looking bald and spectacled man and a blonde young woman with the piercing eyes of a shieldmaiden. The bald man with the glasses had a thick scottish inflection to his voice when he spoke.

“Well. Eggsy Unwin, I presume?” Eggsy looked like a living questionmark, eyes wide at the brittle and categorical way in which the man expressed himself and the fact that he seemed to already know his name. “I looked over your files for Harry.” he stated, instead of an explanation, shrugging noncommittally. A long-suffering sigh came from the young woman, who extended an impeccable tweed-clad arm to shake Eggsy’s hand. Still unsure of what to make of the strange pair, he shook it.

“I’m so sorry about his manners. This is Merlin. You can call me Roxy. We’re Harry’s coworkers.” she had an calming air about her, a soft but strong voice that left him oddly at ease.

In his bafflement, he’d forgotten Harry’s presence behind him, the older man quietly watching the scene play out. “They’re friends.” Harry finally spoke, kindly correcting Roxy and gestured for them to enter. “Come in, please, I’ve a Port with your names on it.” He led them further into the living room, Merlin immediately engaging him in the quick banter of old friends as Roxy stayed a little behind, looking conspiratorily at Eggsy.

“So, what bargain must I strike with you for you to tell me all about how incredibly hellish it is to work for Hart?” She asked it with a polite smile but her eyes betrayed her amusement and mischief. Eggsy chuckled softly and moved to take his notebook from its usual pocket, but was stopped by a wave of Roxy’s hand. “Oh, no need for that, I know BSL.”

‘Really?’ he signed, eyebrows raising. She nodded, her smile morphing into a grin as they shared the happiness that came from meeting a speaker of a language so commonly discarded. ‘Don't mention I said this, but he has a stuffed dog above the loo, it's rank.’

Harry turned as an infectious laughter reached his ears. Eggsy and Roxy were already getting along, just as he’d predicted. His lips quirked upwards. Those two sunny creatures looked perfectly happy, and it struck him, how refreshing their warmth was. From his side, a small cough called him back into his own conversation. Merlin’s teasing look, silently admonishing for his distractions was a sight he was more than accustomed to, and yet it still managed to make him roll his eyes just slightly, making him look far too ungentlemanly.

“I have to congratulate you, it's the first time I see you holding a housekeeper for longer than a week.” Merlin declared as Harry poured their drinks. A deep chuckle resonated from Harry’s throat. God, he’d missed his old bastard of a friend.

“He's reliable.” he explained, handing a glass with an inch of indulgent golden liquid to his friend. “And a good man, I'd risk.”

“Like his father, then.” There was a pause in which they both remembered the day of the young man’s death all too well, and Harry quickly drank a sip from his glass.

“Exactly. Though I do admit I wonder about any wasted potentials.”

At that, as he expected, Merlin’s eyebrows knit together behind his glasses. “What do you mean?”

“I mean Kingsman material.” Harry said it carefully, the full weight of the words making Merlin’s glass stop on its way to his lips.

“Oh.”

“Indeed. I wouldn't say put him on the field, but as a handler or a mission planner, who knows?”

Merlin leaned against the back of the couch, looking thoughtful, and even unusually uncertain of what he was about to say. “Harry… What's going on between you two?” That caught him completely off-guard. Could Merlin truly be implying such a thing? Surely not… He collected himself and shot Merlin a judging glance.

“This table, currently. Please Merlin, don't project your ridiculous wishes for my romantic life onto him. As much as it'd please you, I'm not about to have an affair with a boy half my age, it's ludicrous.” He complained, fighting the urge to roll his eyes yet again when he noticed Merlin’s change of posture. It wasn’t obvious, a shift on his shoulders, a twitch of his hands, but it spoke volumes to him. Merlin noticed his stare and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Harry could see his exhaustion coming though, and a wave of concern for his friend washed in.

“Is it, though?” Merlin’s voice was small as he looked to the other side of the room. The pieces finally clicked in Harry’s head. When he replied, it was in the most casual but discreet voice he could use.

“Roxy? Well. Can't say I expected that. Have you…?”

“Of course not!” Merlin cut him off, and if blushing were something that happened to Merlin, he’d be looking so scarlet he’d put a traffic light to shame. “As you said, she's half my age. With the added bonus of being a coworker. I can't put her in that position.”

Harry tsked, gesturing with his glass. “There are no rules against it. Percival and-”

“Still. You know what I mean.” Merlin said, looking back at where Roxy and Eggsy chatted near the window. The sunshine made their light haired heads look golden, and Harry had to force himself not to let his eyes linger too long. He looked again at his friend.

“I do, but you should take a chance Merlin. You of all people deserve to be happy.”

Merlin coughed around his sip of whiskey. He shot a look at Harry that was half thankfulness, half admonishment, and in a second his back was straighter, and his hands held his glass more surely.

“Well, lad... So, where are the reports I asked you to write?”

* * *

 

_Con Affetto - with feeling and tenderness —used as a direction in music_

Holy guacamole, the Roxlin just happened. I have no idea where this came from. Hope you like it?

You can find me on tumblr at [li-prouvaire](http://li-prouvaire.tumblr.com/)


	6. Volante

“That smells wonderful.” Harry commented from the kitchen’s doorway, a stack of files under his arm. Eggsy shot him a bright smile and added a sprinkle of oregano to a pot of slowly bubbling tomato sauce.

“Could you brew another cup of tea please? I’ll be working outside today.”

The sun was high and inviting, the chilly breeze having apparently taken a respite, at least for the time being. Eggsy nodded quickly and wiped his hand on a kitchen rag. Then he produced a silver spoon from a drawer and took a bit of sauce from the pot, offering it to Harry. 

The man took the spoon, blew softly on it, and as he tasted the red sauce, an unguarded smile of bliss blossomed on his lips. “It's delicious.”

Eggsy’s smile grew even more, dimples forming on his cheeks. He took the pot away from the stove, setting it on the stone counter and replacing it with the kettle on the still-burning hob. Harry left the room, but Eggsy’s smile remained firmly in place even as he headed outside with Harry’s tea.

“Ah, thank you, dear boy.”

Harry’s previous cup, now empty, sat on one of the stacks of paper on the sun-bleached desk, and Eggsy helpfully moved to replace it.

But the cup was lifted and suddenly the papers were white birds, rising and scattering in a gust of wind, then plummeting in a steady dive towards the lake. Eggsy cursed himself and ran to the port, his helpless arms raised towards the sky to catch them, but they slipped away just as his fingers threatened to touch them. Reaching the end, he hesitated.

“Let it be, it’s not worth it! It’s just rubbish, just leave it!” Harry called out, and like a pull in the fabric of time, the moment stretched on, startling Eggsy’s mind into a halt. Harry had raised himself from his chair and now stood so still, electrified with the adrenaline of surprise, hands flat on the desk as he leaned forward, his eyes dancing between Eggsy and the water. The expression on his face was a mix of concern and disbelief, but Eggsy only had time to catch his heart skipping a beat at the way the sun caressed the man’s lower lip. ‘Fuck.’, he thought. ‘Fuck it all...’

Harry watched dumbfounded as in the blink of an eye, Eggsy’s impossibly bright jacket dropped to the floor, followed by garment after garment, until he was clad only in his underwear, feet in a precarious limbo between the planks of the port and the water directly below.. He’d never have guessed that such an elegantly muscular back could have been under those terrible jackets. Or the curve of those thighs under the baggy jeans... And then Eggsy was in the water.

Harry was thrown out of his reverie and immediately spurred into action, running after the boy, his oxfords clacking against the wooden boards. “Shit, Eggsy!” he threw off his shoes and blazer into the pile where Eggsy’s clothes lay. “I really must do copies. There'd better not be eels in here. I can’t stand eels…” he muttered to himself, before diving into the pond after the boy.

Eggsy was gasping, vaguely aware of the ice cold water slowly freezing his toes and chest, as he tried to grab as many pages as he could from the surface. 

“Fuck, it’s freezing!” He turned back to see Harry completely disheveled, his usually immaculate hair sticking to his forehead and over his eyes, and he couldn’t help a bout of laughter at his words and the sloppy sounds he made as he tried to tread the waters towards Eggsy.

Eggsy managed to finally catch a couple of papers, now completely floppy and saturated with water, and his elation was quickly replaced with curiosity as his eyes unintentionally skimmed through the words.  _ Mission nº... Agent Lancelot... explosion… amnesia darts... targets down... civil casualties… _ For a tailor, Harry certainly had files on his hands that would put anything he’d seen on spy movies to shame. 

The rational thing to do was probably to be shocked, but he was more astonished at how underwhelmed he felt about it. It wasn’t that this didn’t come as a surprise, but it was blatantly obvious from the first day that Harry was a bit more than just your run-of-the-mill tailor. That he was probably part of some sort of secret organization simply put a name to it. The idea of being in danger in the presence of the older man wasn’t even a hypothesis his brain provided. Harry was safe. This house was safe. The thing that bugged him wasn’t that. It was just how distant Harry’s world truly was. He dazedly collected as many sheets of paper as he could, and Harry did the same, until their breaths turned shivery and their teeth started clattering.

“This is foolishness Eggsy, we’re turning into ice blocks, let’s go inside.” Harry finally announced, and they slowly moved back to solid ground. 

Out of the water, the cold was even harsher, every slight breeze making them shiver. If Harry stared a bit too long at how the small drops of water slid across Eggsy’s body, it was definitely only out of concern. 

Eggsy, all too aware of the older man’s white shirt clinging to his chest, stared at the floor as though the story of the universe could be read from it, until a white cloud of fluffy towel enveloped him. Harry was wrapping him in a towel and all Eggsy could only think about was how truly doomed he was. 

The press of the older man’s hands through the fabric sent a shiver down his spine that was completely unrelated to the cold that threatened his lungs. “I'm so sorry. And thankful. I'm entirely too aware of what Merlin would put me through if I lost all that paperwork. At least most is salvageable.” the words came out in a stutter, the percussion of his teeth against each other chopping the sounds. He was still wearing his soaked suit, which made Eggsy snap to attention. He'd be damned if Harry caught pneumonia or some shit on his watch.

He sat up, wrapped himself tighter with the towel like the custard in a pastry and rushed to the bathroom, drawing a bath, and then back to the living room to drag Harry to the warmth and comfort of it. There was surprise in the man's face, and something tender that Eggsy couldn’t identify but that his heart took with a helpless faltering.

“You’re too kind.” the older man said. “Perhaps you should borrow some clothes, you'll catch a cold like that.”

Eggsy rolled his eyes and gestured towards the bath, urging him on before closing the door behind himself and going to the bedroom.

It was oddly intimate, looking through Harry’s clothes to pick something suitable to borrow. The citrus scent that seemed to follow Harry was especially strong here and it made him nearly dizzy.

In the end, he settled on a button down that was too small for Harry, yet still slightly baggy on Eggsy, then proceeded to slide into a pair of burgundy trousers he'd never seen on Harry over his humid underwear. With a sigh, he sat on the bed, rolling up the hems until his feet were visible under them. ‘Who told him he could be so bloody tall?’ he thought, and rested his chin on his knees. An odd sense of calm overcame him. Maybe it was the warm, clean feeling of the borrowed clothes on his still recovering body. Or the way the late afternoon light filtered in through the curtains, a gentle and pure white. Maybe it was the sound of the water running from the bathroom next door, or the birds chirping outside. All that he knew was that, at that precise moment, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

 

* * *

 

 

_ Volante -  _Flying, s_ oaring, a fast tempo. Moving with light rapidity. _

 

A special thanks to Geo ([geonarism](http://geonarism.tumblr.com/) on tumbr) for being an absolute gem and enduring my pestering while I wrote and rewrote this chapter  
  
  
You can find me on tumblr at [liprouvaire](http://liprouvaire.tumblr.com/)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Signs That Speak a Thousand Words](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5546066) by [Lady Mephistopheles (Neko_wa)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neko_wa/pseuds/Lady%20Mephistopheles)




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